


Chance Encounters of the Dumb Kind

by clear



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (Whatever the opposite of Meet-Cute is), ER visits, First Meetings, M/M, Mild Blood and Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25623076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clear/pseuds/clear
Summary: “You clotheslined yourself on a street sign,” Kuroo manages in a halting voice, “because you were looking at a dog.”“I guess so,” the other man laughs.
Relationships: Bokuto Koutarou/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 9
Kudos: 123





	Chance Encounters of the Dumb Kind

**Author's Note:**

> For light of my life Casper who requested:  
>  _" literally any pairing, dealer's choice : They meet when Person A sees Person B walk into a street sign. "_

When Kuroo is waiting at the bus stop at 10:00 PM and hears what sounds like a raw chicken being hurled at the side of a car at top speed, he isn’t sure what to think.

When he looks up from the open organic chemistry textbook in his lap and sees a figure lying half-on the sidewalk and half in the grass under a stop sign on the street corner twenty meters from him, he is also, entirely unsure of what to think.

But his _legs_ seem to, because he has shot up and run over to the sprawling mass on the ground before he gains enough control of his mouth again to ask, quite eloquently, “Holy fucking shit, are you okay?”

 _Holy fucking shit_ indeed, because the person’s facial features are streaked with something wet and shiny. He flips on his phone’s flashlight and sees a man, his face streaked with blood where he’s apparently split his forehead open close to his hairline.

He flicks it off just as fast, because there’s a _reason_ he dropped out of his premed track six years ago as a bright-eyed college freshman.

The man suddenly groans and sits up, but apparently this is the wrong thing to do because his whole upper body sways a bit before he manages to catch himself on an outstretched arm in the grass.

 _“Ow,”_ is the first thing that leaves his mouth in a grunt.

“Hey,” Kuroo tries again after a moment. “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

The man’s head whips to the side, and even in the darkness Kuroo notices how wide and bright gold the man’s eyes are. It’s a little terrifying in _this_ context, and suddenly his sense of danger catches up with the rest of his unthinking adrenaline. He starts to wonder if this is some kind of weird set-up, if a gang is going to come racing down the street to mug him because of their plant—

“I’m good!” the other replies suddenly—kind of _barks_ it, really. “I’m totally fine! Just. Ran into the stop sign, I guess. Got distracted by the dog across the street, I think.”

Kuroo takes in the rest of the man halfway backlit from the light at the bus stop—the blue tank top with slashed sides, running shorts pulled high over thick quads, fluorescent yellow sneakers. It makes a little more sense now, and yet, it absolutely _doesn’t_.

Because he was _what_.

“You clotheslined yourself on a stop sign,” Kuroo manages in a halting voice, “because you were looking at a dog.”

“I guess so,” the other man laughs. He fucking _laughs_ , a full-bodied thing that seems to bubble up from his broad chest, and his hand goes up to run through his hair, but he pulls it away with a sudden jolt.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his eyes doing that wide, owlish thing again as he looks down at his hand like it's coated in ectoplasm and not his own blood. “I’m bleeding?”

“You are, in fact, bleeding.”

Kuroo reasons that this must be one of times he’s seen in all of those ER shows where the patient has a whole-ass tree branch in their leg, and yet they’re still able to make casual conversation. Where adrenaline courses through the body after an injury and makes the person wholly unaware of what’s going on. Or this guy is kind of an idiot.

If the _dog_ thing is true, it just might happen to be the latter.

“I think we should get you to the emergency room. You might need stitches,” Kuroo supplies, not entirely aware of when or why he started including _himself_ in this predicament. Perhaps, he reasons, it isn’t exactly _polite_ to see someone injure themselves so horribly only to send them off on their merry bloodstained way to go home and pore over lab notes with a reheated bowl of leftovers.

Thankfully, the other man doesn’t disagree with him. “Yeah, okay,” he says, a little more halted than before. Maybe the situation is starting to settle in with the passing minutes. “Okay. Let’s go to the ER.”

Kuroo makes sure the other can stand on his own before they head over to the bus stop. He’s very familiar with this corner of town thanks to years on the university campus through his first and now second degrees; so he knows that the closest hospital is only a couple stops down. If ever there were an ideal place to get hurt, maybe this would be the one.

When they step fully into the light of the stop he suddenly feels a little bad for scarring anyone taking public transport, since the other’s face is covered in blood and it’s speckled on his shirt as well. But he snuffs these feelings out because the _injury_ is the important thing here; and instead preoccupies himself by furnishing his new companion with a few napkins from the bottom of his backpack and herding him into a window seat towards the back of the bus when it arrives.

Astonishingly, said companion is very lucid and even _more_ talkative on the ten-minute ride over. Any burgeoning reservations Kuroo might’ve had about not calling an ambulance because of the injury fly out the window in the face of his animated ramblings about workout routines, his apparent roommate, and the shows on his Netflix queue.

Somehow, it’s all too easy for Kuroo to forget that fifteen minutes ago, his late night plans were _very_ different from now. He’s not sure, but he thinks he feels the phantom aching of his own head from the sheer power of the emotional whiplash he’s experienced in the past half-hour alone.

They make it into the emergency room, and maybe Kuroo hovers just a _little_ as the other man approaches the check-in counter and gives his information to a very-unfazed looking nurse. In this light, he sees his hair is an odd mix of silvery white and black, under the streaks of crusted red that have worked their way into his roots. It isn’t like anything he’s ever seen before, but it’s still… oddly familiar. He also sees more clearly the broad set to his shoulder, the muscles of his shoulders and arms shaded by the fluorescent lights of the waiting room, and _maybe_ his stomach turns a little in a good way, because despite the circumstances he is only _human_ with _eyes_.

He turns once the nurse disappears from the counter for a moment, locks those bright, golden eyes with Kuroo’s, and offers him a thumbs-up. It’s a little disarming, even with the fistful of red napkins he has clutched to his forehead and his tan skin streaked with reddish brown.

The nurse returns with a wad of clean gauze for him, and he accepts it with an emphatic thank-you before walking back over to Kuroo and settling in a couple of chairs in the corner of the waiting area.

“Do you want me to go back with you?” Kuroo finds himself asking, a bit unbidden. He shoves his tingling hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

The other leans back in his chair and tips his head back—he gets out half a laugh before he stops with the ghost of a wince on his face. “I’ve taken up enough of your night,” he assures him, and sounds _so_ sincere. “Thanks a ton, though. I seriously owe you big-time.”

“It’s no problem,” he assures him with a slight laugh. But still, the answer leaves him a little heavier than he expected. He knows he probably shouldn’t ask but, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he insists, offering the other a beatific grin. “I’ll text my roommate to come and get me if they give me any loopy shit. He works odd hours, anyway.”

He’s about to open his mouth to speak again, when his phone begins to vibrate adamantly in his pants pocket.

One after another, the grey bubbles assail his Messages screen as soon as he unlocks it. It’s his roommate.

_FROM: Oikawa Tooru_

_suga-chan told me ur here_

_in the er_

_what the FUCK tetsu_

_ur not hurt are u????_

_wait_

_he said ur with someone_

_says that he looks like bokuto koutaro_

_he’s kidding right_

_ur not here at my job with a professional volleyball player r u_

_TETSUROU_

_WHAT THE HELL_

He winces a little at the palpable agitation that rolls off the messages. Leave it to an ER nurse to, reasonably, expect the worst. He shoots off a quick _im fine dont worry_ , which only seems to kick the metaphorical wasp’s nest because another deluge follows, but he doesn’t get to read them before his companion draws his attention by shifting beside him.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says with another smile when he catches Kuroo’s eyes. “Since you’re so worried about me, I’ll text you as soon as I’m out of here. Deal?”

This makes Kuroo both relax and tense up all at once. “Deal,” he says, and hopes his voice doesn’t sound as weird and thick as he thinks it does.

Mercifully, the other passes his phone to him instead of the other way around (because Kuroo doesn’t trust Oikawa not to spout off again while the other is putting in his contact information), and he passes it back once he’s finished, acting only a _little_ like it’s a hot coal in his hands. The other taps at his screen for a moment with his free hand and Kuroo’s own phone vibrates in his lap.

A door opens and a nurse emerges from the door on the other side of the lobby, sporting teal scrubs, a head of perfectly coiffed brunette hair, and a scraping gaze as he looks around the room.

“Bokuto Koutaro,” Oikawa calls out as he glances down at the folder in his hands, and Kuroo _feels_ eyes immediately pinning him to the corner when the man beside him stands up in all his bloodied-shirt, broad-shouldered glory.

It suddenly hits him, having the name said out loud. Said man, _MSBY Jackals Outside Hitter Bokuto Koutaro_ from his dim recollections and passive glances at games watched by Oikawa in their living room, looks down at Kuroo where he is still sitting in his plastic chair, suddenly wanting nothing more than to _melt into it_ , and gives him another dazzling smile.

“Thanks again for your help tonight, Kuroo,” he says. “Let me buy you dinner or something to make up for this, okay?”

“Okay,” he croaks, and watches the broad line of Bokuto’s back as he walks towards the door where Oikawa is waiting. He doesn’t miss the tight glare his roommate throws over his shoulder at him before the door swings shut behind the two, and Kuroo sinks further into the chair as he opens his phone.

The last of Oikawa’s messages reads _u owe me a damn good explanation_ , sent five minutes ago.

Kuroo lets out a long sigh, lifts his eyes to the speckled ceiling tiles, and wonders if he might be able to forward that same message to any god above that might be listening.

**Author's Note:**

> I opened up the floor to smaller fic requests just to have some brain breaks from longer projects when I need them! This is the first of them, because what better way to get ideas than farming them from your friends. :,)
> 
> Thank you so, so much as always for reading! ♡♡♡
> 
> If you are so inclined, come say hi and/or shoot me a request on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/cherielimeade) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/cherielimeade) !!


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